


Tea Time

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Beta Read, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6266290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Richard Strand may have degrees from some big name universities, but it does jack squat for his his taste in tea according to Alex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea Time

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr prompt from E-Salvatore: [The way to say 'I Love You': Over a Cup of Tea](http://eleanor-3.tumblr.com/post/141128854422/stragan-prompts-the-way-you-said-i-love-you)

Dr. Richard Strand may have degrees from some big name universities, but it does jack squat for his taste in tea according to Alex. 

He likes higher end tea brands - the loose leaf stuff that one has to find in specialty tea stores tucked away in malls or in small towns. He take his his tea plain, no lemon, cream, sugar, or milk. And god help the foolish person that gives him Lipton, thinking he can’t taste the difference. He can. 

Alex ,on the other hand, doesn’t give a damn about the price tag or the brand name, scent, or leaf quality. She wants something that she can make for herself and others without too much work. Tea is a comfort, not to meant be fussed or worried over. And unlike him, she takes whatever additives is available and doesn’t turn her nose up to any ingredients before her. Her preferred cup is one tea bag of Lipton (”Yes _Dr_. Strand I know what I’m using. Keep using that tone of voice towards me and my tastes and you’re sleeping on the couch for life.”) with two teaspoons of sugar. Depending on the weather, she adds lemon. 

The only thing they can agree on on is that tea is meant for relaxing, to wash down the stresses of work and life in general without turning to the whiskey bottles in her cabinet (for emergencies, she claims) that sing their siren song. 

It’s a horrible night in Seattle; a city-wide blackout, a raging storm that beats down sheets of water against the glass and brick of her apartment, and none of them can sleep. Work -figuratively- was hell on them, her lack of sleep meant more mistakes which only led to the both of them being more stressed and less likely to sleep- the most vicious of cycles. Strand has claimed her couch and coffee table so he doesn’t disturb her attempts of rest with his work lit by candle light. He can her the springs of her mattress creak, the pained sighs of despair, and the grumbled curses coming from her bedroom. 

“Richard are you awake?”

“I am,” he responds, setting down his papers. “Do you need anything, Alex?” It wouldn’t be the first time she asked him to fetch her something because she didn’t want to get out of bed. And it is a very nice bed, he’s stubborn and skeptical, but he isn’t cruel. He wont rip her out of a warm blanket nest for petty excuses like “You’re grown up do it yourself”. He does it for her, and only her. 

“Do you want some tea?”

The question jolts him awake. They _don’t_ make tea for one another, their tastes are too different, too complex for the other to understand. It’s something he accepted long ago, that there were some things they just couldn’t bridge between them. He thinks on her offer, he could use a break now. His eyes are getting sore and his muscles are screaming from him hunched over while writing. 

“Sure, why not.”

He hears the mattress sift and the wooden floor creak underneath her weight as she makes her way to the kitchen, her flashlight slicing the darkness before her. The sink runs. The propane stove clicks to life. He waits,stretching his limbs, cracking bones, and easing his muscles, trying to get comfortable. 

Minutes later, he feels her sit down beside him. She carefully passes him the warm mug. Even in the darkness, he can tell its the one with a smiling snowman on a winter landscape. He only used it because his travel mug went missing, it was meant to be a one time deal, but from then on he kept using it. It’s a joke between them, one of many they keep secret from others.

“Careful, it’s hot,” she warns.

A witty -and dirty- remark comes to mind, but he quickly pushes it out of mind and instead takes a sip. He drinks in darkness, only illuminated by the fading candle. The tea burns the tip of his tongue. It’s sickeningly sweet yet metallic (probably the water and not the tea), and its hollow, earthy scent mixed with a godawful amount of sugar floods his lungs. It’s no the kind he likes. And he knows that she knows. Alex Reagan is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them (though some would argue otherwise). 

But the usual rage that should have come from this “betrayal” doesn’t come. His blood doesn’t boil, he doesn’t slam the cup down in frustration, he doesn’t berate her or make a bitter remark of her inability to pay attention, and he doesn’t demand her to make him another cup, a “better” one. He keeps drinking, silently sipping in time to her sighs and five-second hummed melodies. When he’s done, he sets the cup on the table right on top of the papers. 

“Did you like it?” she asks. Her voice wavers, he knows she’s unsure of herself. He squeezes her thigh gently. A light gasp escapes her.

“I love it. Thank you,” he replies. He means it. He hopes she can hear it in his voice. It takes courage - or lack of survival instincts- for someone to disregard his preferences. But then again, she’s been doing that since day one, tearing down the perfect walls of his resolve- his secrecy, his high and mighty, untouchable, god-like stance above the world- with a simple inquiry and request. 

She hums in satisfaction. He doesn’t need the light to imagine her wide, puppy-dog like eager smile. She leans over and kisses his cheek without hesitation or fear of being scratched by his beard. When he tries to do the same, she pulls away with an airy laugh.

“If you want more, stop working and come to bed. You need a break.” And with that she rushes for the bedroom, her laughter trailing behind her,  and slams the door shut,

He gaze shifts between the paperwork and the door. He blows out the candle and follows in pursuit.

He’ll be the first to admit it, but he doesn’t give her enough credit for everything she has done for him. For _them_. He might be a tea snob with high standards, but he needs someone like Alex -headstrong, looking at the bigger picture, and staring danger in the face- Reagan to remind him that although he may want fancy tea 24/7, there are some days he needs the bitter taste of something simple to humble him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! And a thank to E-Salvatore for giving me the prompt!


End file.
